Where the Lonely Ones Roam
by Need2Scream
Summary: "Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz
1. Chapter 1

_Won't you come out_

_ I've been waiting for you_

_ Holding my breath_

_ 'Til my body turned blue_

_ We've got everything to lose_

_ Yeah I'm waiting on you_

_ Sun's come up_

_ And there's no one else around_

_ Meet me in the shadows_

_ Won't you tell me what you found_

_ You've got everything to lose_

_ Yeah I'm waiting on you_

_ Say you have a little faith in me_

_ Just close your eyes and let me lead_

_ Follow me home_

_ Need to have a little trust in me_

_ Just close your eyes and let me lead_

_ Follow me home_

_ To where the lonely ones roam_

_ To where the lonely ones roam_

_ Roam with me_

_ Come down to where all of the others fell_

_ Get lost in the dark to find yourself_

_ Just remember what I said_

_ No it isn't over yet_

_ Say you have a little faith in me_

_ Just close your eyes and let me lead_

_ Follow me home_

_ Need to have a little trust in me_

_ Just close your eyes and let me lead_

_ Follow me home_

_ To where the lonely ones roam_

_~Where the Lonely Ones Roam, Digital Daggers_

He stood outside the door, trembling. A shaking hand poised just above the smooth metal. Loud in the quiet hall, his intakes were arrhythmic. Pain lanced his spark. Tremors racked his frame again and his knuckles made contact with the metal.

He wondered if this would be the night the door didn't open. If tonight he would be left for his demons like bloated carrion, a putrid offering. Jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached he couldn't relax. Nightmare sounds whispered through the dark hallway. The quiet rush of air from vents made his armor plates raise. The air was cooler in the night cycle, the astringent smell of cleaner made his tanks churn. Shockwave was so fastidious. He always cleaned his tools, the table. A small figurine of polished blue-grey stone gripped in his hand hard enough to dent his fingers was the only anchor he had. Nightmares crowded at the back of his mind, filling the shadows along the walls, caressing his plating with frigid fingers. He squeezed his hand tighter feeling every contour of the slim rock. Gritting his teeth, trying to keep his intakes even, trying to keep tank-purging fear at bay he stared at the door. The rock wasn't enough to keep the nightmares away, that's why he was here.

The door slid open only a breem later. Even with the late hour of the night it was impossible to tell if Prowl had been recharging or still awake. His wings with their elegant arches over his shoulders were held high. Sapphire blue optics flicked over Jazz's haggard face and he stepped back. He hesitated, relief so poignant he threatened to collapse. Prowl came forward again and a warm hand slid around to his back. Gentle pressure urging him forward. His other hand took Jazz's closed fist and rubbed along the knuckles until the crushing grip he had on the rock no longer made his palm ache.

Prowl's room was a few degrees cooler than the halls. Jazz shivered. The cold didn't last. Prowl's warm hands coaxed him down on his berth. Wings, warmer and softer than any blanket wrapped around him. Arms, solid and strong, held him close to Prowl's familiar body. His jaw began to relax, his intakes found a rhythm with Prowl's. Trembling arms wrapped around Prowl's solid frame. His rock, held loosely in his hand, blended seamlessly with the firm lines of Prowl's body. He didn't fall into recharge. It would be awhile before the demons left him long enough for that to happen. Tilting his head he pressed his face against Prowl's neck feeling the steady pulse of energon. Prowl's fingers stroked over his spinal strut, careful of the fresh welds and patches.

His lips parted, words he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Would Prowl see him as weak? Prowl needed him. Needed him to be strong because he was the best and there was no one else. He couldn't be weak. He couldn't break. In the quiet dark, warm and safe, demons scratched at his mind. He would go out again. When the welds were healed. And Shockwave would be waiting. Tremors shook his body. Weak, like dry leaves in the wind. Prowl's body stayed still and warm against him like bedrock.

Prowl's head tilted, his chin brushing Jazz's cheek. A notification pinged softly in his messages. A schedule update. Prowl's shift hours had moved back to evening instead of his usual early morning. Shuttering his optics Jazz tightened his arms around Prowl. Fluid pooled in his optics. His shaking worsened. Intakes beginning to seize again. His welds hurt. His spark hurt. A low keening sound pierced the darkness.

He broke apart at the seams.

He broke apart at the welds.

He broke apart at the scars that always ached.

His teeth stayed clamped together as more sounds escaped him. Broken sounds, pleas he could never voice. Because he was the best. Because there was no one else. He couldn't break. He had to be strong. Prowl held him closer, arms and wings tight around him. Holding him. Holding him together. Prowl wouldn't let him break. Like bedrock, he was there to hold him, to keep him from sinking further.

Gentle fingers brushed across his face, wiping away the fluid that leaked out. "I'm sorry," Prowl whispered.

He woke warm and, for the first time in kels, certain he was safe. No more safe houses, no more looking over his shoulder. At least for the moment. For this moment he was utterly safe. Breathing in Prowl's familiar scent he allowed himself to drift off again. Prowl would keep him safe for as long as he could.

It wasn't until after midday that he woke again. He knew by the sound of Prowl's spark pulse that he was awake. Lifting his head from Prowl's neck he started the painful process of uncurling his body. Prowl's arms shifted as needed, but he didn't let go. His wings stayed secure around him. Gentle hands soothed his new wounds and old scars. A quiet notification chimed in his HUD. A rough laugh escaped him, muffled against Prowl's neck. His debriefing with Prowl was scheduled in half a joor.

"You need to eat," Prowl murmured. The words were almost lost as Jazz sank into the comfort of his arms once more. But his tanks heard and seemed to realize for the first time in orns that they were empty. Groaning he tried to fall back into recharge but his systems were demanding. "You won't be as sore when you've eaten," Prowl said practically. Jazz offlined his optics but the SIC was right. He was running his systems on their absolute minimum and his entire body was feeling the effects.

Prowl didn't move until Jazz lifted his head and sighed. He had never resisted Prowl's gentle prodding before and he saw no reason to now. Ratchet had tried to cram a portion down him before he left the med bay the orn before but the thought of food had almost made him dry heave. His tanks were keen on the idea now and while he wasn't looking forward to the bright lights of the halls, the dispensary would offer a nice distraction. "Coming?" he asked hoarsely. When was the last time he'd spoken; probably when he'd given out his coordinates for extraction. That one word made his vocalizer ache.

Prowl's wings swept up to their normal arch. "If you would like," his voice a smooth alto, nuanced only if you listened closely. Prowl had never been monotone to him. Blaster was fond of comparing his quiet voice to Soundwave's computer rendered vocalizations. It irritated him to no end, but Prowl always dismissed the crude comments and there was no reason for Jazz to fight that particular battle for him. From a berthside table, Prowl picked up a small figurine carved from rock so black it didn't reflect the light and rubbed his thumb over it once. "First shift will be starting soon, the dispensary should be peaceful." He set the figurine down with enough care the vibration didn't register to Jazz's over sensitized sensor net. Jazz turned his hand over and stared at the figurine in his own hand. Slipping it into its compartment above his hip he rallied enough strength to stand.

Prowl led him out of the room into the strident light of the halls. The ambient noise was louder, sounds from the primary corridors trickling down to the officers' quarters. Voices raised in conversation, laughter, sounds of life. Dialing his sensor net down to its lowest setting he followed Prowl to the chaos.

Moving, he was now acutely aware of every ache and pain in his frame. The lack of food for however many orns slowed the healing process and added its own discomfort. He should've eaten when Ratchet told him to. Lights seared his optics, familiar noise thundered in his audios, and his sensor net vibrated with too much input. Groaning softly he kept his head down hoping he wouldn't be stopped as he walked behind the SIC.

"Jazz-man!" Blaster's loud voice made him flinch. If he touched him, he would collapse. He _could not_ handle the rough physical contact Blaster employed. Shockwave's torture hardly allowed for Ratchet's knowing gentle touch. Prowl was the only one he voluntarily tolerated, needed. "Hatchet's been crankier than the Unmaker so we figured you were back." The energetic red and gold mech continued chattering as Jazz struggled to reassemble his façade.

"Blaster, you are already ten breems late for your shift," Prowl's voice cut through Blaster's jovial chatter. "You may catch up with Jazz when your duties are taken care of." That cut the noise. Jazz's hyper-sensitive sensor net picked up Blaster bristling. With a dark glower and a dismissive flick that could have been a salute if you dimmed your optics, he stalked away. The rest of the hall, hearing the exchange also quieted as mechs and femmes scurried to get where they were supposed to be.

There were a few mechs in the dispensary, but it was thankfully quieter than the halls. Hound and Trailbreaker sat at a table going over a holographic map with bright optics. The last time he'd talked to them they'd been going through a list of new places for their next period of leave. The small bit of quiet normalcy soothed his processor. Whatever planet they had settled on was mountainous and lush with vegetation. They were going to be absolutely filthy when they returned. They'd probably have to use the frigid wash racks in the hanger before hitting the primary ones lest they clog the pipes will all the mud and rock. Mirage sat in a far corner reading a dat pad, two tables to his left Perceptor sat doing the same thing. Blades and Streetwise sprawled out in their chairs playing a lazy game of cards. At another table along the back wall, Hoist and Grapple sat with First Aid, study materials taking up the entire table as they fielded questions for the young medic. Jazz tried to remember if he was on his second or third accreditation exam.

Prowl handed him a warm cup of energon and he followed the SIC to a quiet table, not as removed as Perceptor and Mirage, but not in the middle of the room. Sipping the warm brew Jazz began to feel a little better. His systems began to warm and power up to normal parameters and his over-taxed sensor net settled a little at a time.

Halfway through his cup he felt like he could embrace his "Jazz-man" identity again. Rubbing a sore spot on his arm he asked Prowl, "Miss anything good?" His vocalizer was still scratchy from lack of use. He hadn't noticed any new patchwork on the walls, but he hadn't been paying attention as he stumbled through the dark halls. The whole of D deck could have been replaced and he probably would have only registered something being vaguely different.

"Wheeljack is convinced with sufficient amounts of cesium and water he can create a more efficient propulsion engine for atmospheric transports," Prowl murmured.

Jazz sipped his energon while he considered that. "And how much exactly is a "sufficient" amount," he asked after a moment.

"Two thousand kilograms."

Jazz stared at the wall while he ruminated on the quantity. "What'd you tell him?" He tried to imagine where they would even store that much cesium. They couldn't just leave it in the hanger, once Sideswipe heard about it no one would be safe.

"Once the ship is decommissioned he can blow it into as many pieces as he pleases, until then, he will have to pursue other means of energy." Prowl finished his cup while Jazz continued to nurse his. Slowly Jazz dropped his head to the table and laughed. The sound was a bit rougher than normal, but the laugh was true. Lifting his head he kept his face covered by his hands while he continued to shake with laughter.

"Two thousand kilos," Jazz said between breaths. Prowl's optics flickered, subtle sign of amusement. "He had to have known you wouldn't authorize it," Jazz started giggling again. "Why would he—two _thousand_ kilos?" He couldn't stop the laughter. It bubbled to the surface seeping out of the small place he'd hidden it. The place where he locked it away when the pain started. He began to reform, morphing from what he had been in Prowl's embrace to Jazz. The hard places relaxed, his shoulders rolled back so he wasn't hunched over the table and a smirk graced his lips once more.

A smile that didn't curve his mouth but brightened his optics softened the lines of Prowl's face. "I need to go to my office," he said softly. "There is an officer's meeting tomorrow at 0900." Jazz leaned back in his chair and looked up at Prowl as he stood. The dispensary already felt cooler without his warm body next to him. His lips parted, words he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Prowl glanced at him, his head tilted a fraction. Jazz closed his lips, the words swallowed once more. Prowl had never asked for an explanation, never demanded words, never tried to reason. He was bedrock. And once you hit bedrock there was nothing left to do but rebuild.

A/N: This will be a slow update, so if you're in for the long haul thank you for reading and reviewing ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

Transcript #415

Jazz

Session 146

How are you feeling?

Usual.

—2.4 breems silence—

You seem a bit more resistant than you usually are. I know you think these things are a waste of time, Jazz, but I really do want to make sure you're all right. Your injuries were—

I've had worse.

Yes, you have, but the extraction team was quite concerned. Even with your more spark-threatening injuries you've always played them off. According to this report you didn't speak or even look at anyone.

Sensor net got fragged up. Makes it hard to talk without screaming.

—4.1 breems silence—

Look, Smokescreen, cut the slag. We both know why we're here.

Well, all right. You are well aware sexual relationships with other officers are strictly prohibited.

Good thing we're not fragging.

Jazz…

We're not. I already went over this with Optimus, why the frag did they bring you in?

You're in an incredibly stressful position, Jazz. The most common form of stress release is interfacing and more than once you've been seen leaving Prowl's quarters in the early morning or late afternoon.

So what, Ratchet and Wheeljack do the same thing. You have this conversation with them?

Yes, I have.

—2.6 breems silence—

So what are you doing?

Recharging.

Together?

Yes.

Why?

I don't sleep well alone.

It wouldn't be hard to get you a roommate, Jazz. What about Blaster?

No.

Why not?

Same reason I think talking to you is pointless.

You've never told me why you think this is pointless.

Smoke, you know every time you come here and talk to me you have to be vetted? Every. Single. Time. Like you've never been here and we don't know you. You know why? Because they tell you've I've been in the field. I'm not supposed to tell you that. You know if someone asks me where I've been I have to come up with some excuse. I can't tell them I've been in the field. I can't tell anyone anything, not even drop a hint. Can't give a sector or a quadrant, can't even tell them why sometimes when I come back my sensor net is so scrambled I can't handle anyone touching me. There are three people in this army who know when I'm gone. You know who they are?

Optimus, Prowl, and Ratchet?

No. Optimus, Prowl, and me. Those are the three who know when I'm gone. Optimus doesn't even know I'm gone until I'm joors out. The only two people in this fragging army who know when I leave and where exactly I'm going are me and Prowl. No one else. They don't know where I go and they sure as frag don't know what I do. So when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night what the frag am I supposed to tell Blaster?

—End Session—

Notes on Session:

While Jazz has shown normal fluctuations in mood during our sessions, he has never expressed such anger before. I do believe he and Prowl have not been intimate, but it is difficult to articulate what their relationship is and why questioning their intimacy has created such antagonism. My concern is that Jazz has been more adept at hiding what he is really going through better than I imagined. I will have to review older sessions to see if I have indeed been missing something. Recommendation: Observation of behavior, more frequent sessions.

A/N: Sorry this is a short one! I haven't decided yet what format I want the next chapter, but I knew this was going here so I thought I'd put it up. Thank you again for the follows/favorites/reviews :)


	3. Chapter 3

The explosion rocked D deck through B and set off every onboard klaxon the _Ark_ had. Jazz flinched hard, only two septorns back onboard the _Ark_ he was still a little twitchy. The control room on A deck didn't get the full shockwave, just enough to jingle loose metal. Blaster, at communications, cursed from one end of the alphabet to the other as he shut down his scans of Decepticon chatter and focused wholly on coordinating fire suppression and medical teams. Jazz ran from the room as fast as he could with the welds on his back.

_"Prowl, are you anywhere near D deck?"_ Blaster asked.

_"Do you know what he was mixing?"_ Ratchet yelled over an open channel.

_"Enroute, will be at D deck in thirty seconds,"_ Prowl said calmly

_"We've got fire moving for chemical storage,"_ Inferno yelled.

_"Inferno, get back! Get away, there's sulfuric—"_ Quickmix's warning cut off as a second explosion shuddered through the ship. Static filled all the channels as Jazz skipped the anti-grav lift and simply dropped down the tube. The acrid stench of smoke was already beginning to permeate the small space.

_"Prowl, copy? Anyone hear me? Blaster?"_ His back screamed at him as he caught the small ledge for D deck. He lost his grip and slid down a few more meters until his claws dug into the grooved metal. Gasping both in pain and from the toxic smoke pouring through the seams of the lift doors he clawed his way back up to the ledge.

_"We're venting atmosphere,"_ Cosmos scratchy voice came through so fuzzed with static he might as well have been in deep space instead of at the helm. Jazz heaved himself up and manually coded open the doors. Black smoke poured into the lift and almost knocked him down the shaft again. Another explosion shook the deck. Jazz plunged into the heated smoke, intakes closed. He could last a bit longer than other mechs, but in a few breems his core temperature would begin to rise. With the waves of heat engulfing the hall it was going to rise quickly.

Activating his sonar a second too late he tripped over something and landed hard on his chest. Twisting around his sonar sketched out the shape of a mech and not the twisted debris he thought it would be. Venting hot air with a curse he scrambled back to the small mech. _"Ratchet, Ratchet you copy? I've got First Aid, I'm taking him to A deck."_ His message fell into static and he prayed some of the message got through. Not even Primus would be able to drag Ratchet out of the Pit D deck had become if he thought his apprentice was trapped in the flames.

Not a front line medic like Ratchet, First Aid was only lightly armored and already the thin plates were warping in the heat. Careful of the soft metal, Jazz hoisted the small mech into his arms and staggered when his back protested. Almost falling to his knees he vented another gust of hot air from his systems and forced his legs to move. A small red light flickered in his HUD, his core temperature beginning to approach a dangerous level. Ignoring it he reached out to key the lift when the doors slid open and Ironhide and Optimus almost bowled him over. "Take him," Jazz gasped handing the small apprentice to Ironhide. The black mech held out his hands more as a reaction of being handed something.

"What? Jazz, get yer aft back up to the control room," Ironhide barked. Jazz shook his head and plunged back into the hot smoke. Prowl was still in the inferno. Somewhere.

_"Red, head count,"_ Ratchet's static voice came through.

_"Can anyone hear me?"_ Perceptor screamed.

_"Got 'Jack,"_ Inferno gasped. A ragged intake punctuated his words.

_"Prowl?"_ Jazz's HUD began to send up more alarms as he pushed deeper into the inferno.

_"Ratchet, I lost First Aid,"_ Hoist shouted frantically.

_"All science officers still unaccounted for," _Red Alert came over the line. _"First Aid is on A deck with Ironhide. All fire suppression teams, Prowl, Jazz, Gears, and Grapple also unaccounted for. Twins possibly missing." _

_ "I can't get out,"_ Perceptor shouted. _"I can't get out, I can't get out, I can't get out!"_

_ "Perceptor, where the frag are you?"_ Jazz answered. A loud crack was the only warning Jazz had before a superheated shockwave hit him and slammed him to the deck. Dazed, his involuntary systems reset and his intakes opened. Smoke poured in hot enough to sear delicate internal filters and wires. Rolling to his side with a shriek of pain he coughed and tried to gain his feet. He was hot, so hot and now the orange tongues of flames could be seen in the utter blackness of smoke and ash. _"Prowl?"_

_"Jazz, return to A deck,"_ Not even static could disrupt Prowl's smooth voice. The authority, surety, of it grabbed Jazz almost like Prowl's warm hand cupping his cheek. He shouldn't be on D deck. He was still recovering and now he was just another body they needed to keep track of.

Perceptor's agonized scream filled the channel.

_"Where are you?"_ Jazz didn't turn back to the lift but staggered forward.

_"Ratchet, Hoist, I have located Inferno and Wheeljack. Taking them to A deck via lift four."_ Jazz stumbled to a stop, Prowl was almost on the opposite side of the ship and on his way to A deck.

_"Tinder and Ember have reached A deck with Gears,"_ Red Alert patched in.

_"Perceptor!"_ Quickmix's frantic scream pushed Jazz faster.

_"Where is he?"_ Jazz snapped.

_"He was on his way to Wheeljack's lab when the second explosion occurred, I lost him in the smoke,"_ Red Alert answered. Jazz tried to orient where he was. He'd come down lift three which put him by the med bay. Wheeljack's lab was by lift four and Perceptor's was clear over by one. His sonar picked out a corner a few steps ahead. A wave of heat hit him as soon as he turned it. He stumbled and fell to his knees. The warnings in his HUD went from a gentle reminder to a screaming warning. He was too hot, system damage was now imminent. The acrid smoke that had made its way into his intakes already was still playing havoc with his delicate internals. Digging his claws into the melting wall he dragged himself up he plunged deeper into the hall. Orange and white flames licked along the ceiling following the billowing smoke.

_"Grapple?" _Ratchet shouted. _"Red Alert, where the frag is Grapple?"_

_"Last known location was med bay, Ratchet. I have zero visibility and thermal is useless."_

_"No it's not,"_ Prowl's calm voice came through. _"He should be cooler than the fire and smoke, look for cold spots. Ratchet, I will find Grapple, Wheeljack and Inferno are critical."_

Ratchet cursed but gave curt affirmation and yelled at Hoist to follow him. Jazz fell back when a wall of flames erupted on his right. "Jazz!" Perceptor screamed. "Help me, please, help me!" The scientist was backed into a corner of a store room trying to get away from the flames tasting his armor. Jazz was one hundred percent not built for walking through fire, but his armor was still thicker than Perceptor's. Flexing his hands he shook his head hard to clear it. This was going to hurt and it was going to hurt a lot but he had to stay conscious long enough to get back to the lift.

_"Prowl, there is a cold spot seven meters from the door to Quickmix's lab. It is close to Grapple's size but not approximate."_

Running through the flames Jazz slammed into the wall next to Perceptor with an agonized scream. And now he felt the brunt of the heat, his vision swam as his core temperature rose into the triple digits. Grabbing Perceptor's arm more to steady himself than out of comfort he stared at the flames making his finish bubble up. Perceptor looked close to offlining, his armor warped and bubbled, scorch marks marring his face and arms. Energon leaked from his legs where the flames were closest. "A'ight, Percy," Jazz gasped. "This is gonna hurt like the Unmaker, but don't fragging let go." Perceptor swayed on his feet and nodded. Perceptor was a head taller than him, but since he served a non-combat role in the army his armor was lighter than even First Aid's. Jazz turned around and Perceptor climbed on his back, his armor scorched Jazz's wounds and he almost fell to his knees. Pained, hot, sick, tired. He held the image of the lift in his mind. That was what he wanted, the only thing he wanted.

"Jazz, run the moment I tell you. Don't hesitate," Prowl's voice snapped him out of his pained haze. Like a wraith, Prowl stood on the other side of the flames with Grapple's prone form in his arms. His wings swept up bringing trails of flame with them. "Now," he snapped his wings forward and Jazz lunged without question. The rush of wind flattened the flames for only a second, just long enough for Jazz to clear their hungry tongues, before they roared back to life stronger than before. "Move," Prowl ordered. _"Red Alert, lock down starboard side and vent atmosphere."_

Jazz lost all feeling in his body. He was used to it. When the pain became too much, when it overwhelmed him to the point of offlining, just before he broke, it all disappeared. He knew it was there, could feel it burning the back of his processor, every step, it was there clawing at his mind. He saw shadows in the smoke. Shockwave. Starscream. Megatron. They hid in the flames watching him, knowing his pain, knowing it hurt. And they waited. They waited for the pain to break him as they always did. They waited for this safe bubble of exhaustion and agony to collapse and for the pain to come screaming back.

He collapsed in the lift, Perceptor offlining as soon as the doors closed and the brunt of the heat gone. _"Red Alert, close off D and C decks, vent atmosphere."_ Prowl set Grapple down and kneeled next to Jazz as he gasped and choked. Gentle fingers caressed his armor where the flames had taken their toll. "I told you to go back to A deck," he whispered.

"Stay," Jazz whispered through a haze of agony and breathless exhaustion. The doors opened and chaos spilled into the lift. Hoist shouted orders to any mech within reach. First Aid lay prone under Hoist's quick hands as the secondary medic tried to get his intakes working. Ratchet kneeled eerily quiet over Wheeljack's gasping, twitching frame. The single-minded intensity in his optics made Jazz's tanks churn. Helm fins shattered, energon leaked from Wheeljacks' audios and optics as more stained his lips as he gasped. His intakes whined and stuttered as he clawed at the deck trying to breathe. Ratchet didn't tell him to hold still, didn't curse him, didn't tell him what an idiot he was. His optics burned almost white with intensity as his hands flew over Wheeljack's frame. Chasis heaving, he kicked his feet like a drowning mech trying to breathe through the energon in his intakes. Cracked and scorched armor was thrown to the side, Ratchet's hands soaked in energon and internal fluids as he tried to clear his intakes.

With a sharp cry and a wheeze, First Aid began coughing like a newspark. His intakes rattled but he was breathing. Hoist dropped his head to the young mech's shoulder for a second, lips moving as he whispered something too quick for Jazz to read. And then he was up and at Inferno's side. The big mech lay on his side breathing hard either offline or close to it. "Don't move, Jazz," Prowl said softly. Picking up Grapple again he walked into the makeshift med bay and carefully set him down. Badly burned on his left side, Grapple looked like he'd been caught in a back draft. Perceptor whimpered as he came back online.

"Jazz-man," Blaster said jogging over. "Jazz?" He dropped to his hands and knees in front of Jazz and the saboteur lifted his eyes but not his head. He hurt too much to do that.

"Percy," he whispered hoarsely. The scientist needed a medic ASAP. Blaster nodded and pulled Perceptor out of the lift. He set the scientist next to Quickmix who sat out of the way coughing smoke and ash out of his intakes. When Perceptor was laid out next to him he fell to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist holding the injured mech close.

"Ratchet," Wheeljack gasped suddenly, his optics lit blue-white. "Ratch." He stared sightlessly at the ceiling as his struggles weakened. Ratchet's hands paused for the briefest second and trembled. And then Hoist was next to him and the CMO's hands were a blur once again. Jazz rolled to his front and pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall with a pained gasp. Wheeljack's systems whined and the inventor's ragged intakes began to slow.

"'Jack," Ratchet snapped, the sound like a bullwhip in the quieting room. Jazz watched helplessly as the medics worked to patch lines and systems. Prowl returned to his side, Jazz didn't look up at him.

_ "Red, are the fires out?"_ Prowl asked over a more private channel, the one most referred to as the Officer Channel.

_"Affirmative."_

_ "Begin a damage assessment."_

Blaster's head jerked up and an icy glare pinned Prowl. Wheeljack gasped again but his intakes didn't whine. "'Jack?" Ratchet breathed. Wheeljack's optics darkened to a more natural shade. "Wheeljack?" The inventor took a short breath and whimpered but Ratchet's optics were their natural sapphire. "You really fragged it up this time," Ratchet said without any rancor. Wheeljack made a soft sound and his optics shuttered. Releasing a long breath, Ratchet looked up and seemed to notice he wasn't in his med bay. Snapping his head around he ordered Hoist to Grapple while he moved to Perceptor.

Prowl shifted and Jazz finally looked up at him. The tips of his wings were scorched black and bleeding in places. Other scorch marks crisscrossed his chest and arms and singed his thighs. Staggering to his feet, Jazz felt every gear and wire in his frame protest. "Jazz, wash racks," Prowl ordered. "Non-essentials, return to your shifts those with minor injuries, wash racks and back to your quarters. Ratchet and Hoist will triage when the worst are stable."

_"Cosmos, set course for nearest neutral dock,"_ Prowl ordered via comm. "Blaster, we need a friendly rendezvous for immediate medical aid." He said out loud simultaneously. Blaster nodded once stiffly and turned on his heel. "Jazz, the wash racks wasn't a suggestion," Prowl said without changing his tone.

"You need to hit the racks yourself," he said hoarsely. Primus, he hurt.

"I am not healing from previous spark threatening injuries. Go." Jazz tried to huff and ended up starting a coughing fit that brought him to his knees. Breathing hard he almost fell on his face but a warm arm caught him around the waist and pulled him up. Optics dim he couldn't fake an effort to help. The bubble began to collapse. First his intakes, the searing pain from the superheated smoke he'd brought in made it hard to breathe. The pain began radiating out. The burns on his legs felt like acid eating through his exoform. The welds on his back, scorched and stretched, felt like they were still on fire. Holding back a whimper, he couldn't find the strength to lift his head. Gentle hands slid over his armor and hoisted him up. His optics offlined and he spiraled into emergency reboot.

"Primus fraggit, Jazz." Groaning and stiffly trying to move his limbs he was glad to hear Ratchet cursing at him. It meant he was A) Still alive and B) Among friendlies and usually wherever the cranky CMO was Prowl was nearby. "You get up from this berth any time in the next orn and I will weld you to it," Ratchet snapped standing up. Jazz could barely focus on him, his optics were hot and dry.

"Ratch?" he whimpered trying to remember where he'd been, why he hurt so bad. A shadow from memory rose up in his blurred vision. He flinched hard from the profile of wings. Starscream. Had he been with Starscream?

"You're safe," Prowl's smooth voice melted the tension from his body. "Wheeljack set off a series of explosions, you spent too much time in heat and smoke." The memories came back and he shuttered his optics.

"'Jack?" he murmured.

"Alive," Ratchet said shortly. "No casualties, a fragging miracle. Half a dozen serious injuries though and no real medical supplies to treat them, yours included." He continued fuming as he picked up his tools. He pointed at Prowl. "His aft. That berth." And then he strode out of the room.

"Prowl?" he asked softly trying to stay out of recharge. "Stay?" He felt Prowl sit on the edge of the berth and a gentle hand stroked over a sore spot on his chest.

"Recharge for now," he murmured. "I have supplies to order and new safety protocols to write. I'll return in a few joors with energon."

"Stay tonight?" Jazz slurred losing his battle.

A soft touch above his optic ridge. "Your berth is not large enough for my wings, Jazz. Please, recharge. I won't leave you long." And Jazz fell into unconsciousness with a troubled frown.

Nightmares tore at his legs, sharp claws and blades digging in under the tough armor to his sensitive exoform. His intakes heaved, shock making his core temperature fluctuate wildly. A shadow loomed over him, a single crimson optic the only color in the darkness. Pain ripped through his intakes.

Thrashing awake Jazz gasped, gagged, and dry heaved over the side of his berth. Frame shaking he snapped his teeth together to hold back a scream. Dragging himself out of the berth he stumbled to the lights and turned them up to their highest level banishing shadows. Falling down against the wall jarred his injuries but fear still had him in a stranglehold. His intakes stuttered and skipped while his spark hammered in its chamber, newly patched and welded. Huddling against the wall shaking and still nauseas he reached into his side compartment and pulled out the small stone figurine. Holding it with both hands he stared into the dark surface where the face would be and tried to steady his spark. "One…two…three," he whispered on each exhale all the way to ten before starting over. His spark began to slow and the tank purging terror subsided into uneasy dread with spikes of fear any time his processor materialized a shadow in the bright room.

Climbing to his feet, unsteady and beginning to feel sick from pain and fear he opened the door and spilled out into the hall. Pain radiated from his back and legs with every step but it only spurred him on.

He reached Prowl's room and knocked, a message scrolled across the keypad. _Office Hours_. Jazz stared at the two words before comprehending them. He wasn't in his room. Checking his chronometer he realized Prowl was still on duty for another three joors. Keying in the code he slipped into the cool welcoming darkness of Prowl's quarters with a relieved sigh that was almost a sob.

Leaning against the cool metal of the door soothed the ache in his back and his spark well and truly began to slow. Tilting his head back he breathed in the spicy aroma of leaves Prowl liked to burn and listened to the velvet silence as it settled over him. He couldn't lean against the door all orn and his legs told him he really didn't want to try. Limping to Prowl's berth he sat and rolled onto his side with another relieved sigh.

In the far corner, off to the side where it could only be seen if one was deep in Prowl's quarters a small shrine sat. A framed pyramid made of ancient dark wood. Along the bottom were three stone figurines of different colors. On the left a soft blue and in the middle white-gold and on the right speckled red one. In the middle tier two figures, one a lush green and the other grey like Prowl's wings. And at the very top sat a figure blacker than ash, the one Prowl always recharged with on his berthside table. A soft battery light meant to mimic flame illuminated them in shifting shadow and light. A small dish holding ashes from the leaves he burned sat on the other side, a thin stream of smoke still rising from them. Tucking his figurine close to his chest Jazz stared at the shrine and slowly let his body relax against the berth. Breathing in the smoke he shuttered his optics and let the silence fold around him like Prowl's wings.

He woke up still alone.

Or not.

Movement behind him caught his attention and he rolled over to see Prowl sliding a polishing cloth over his shoulder. Blinking a few times he thought about pushing himself into a sitting position and then reconsidered. "How long you been back?" he murmured. Prowl glanced up and a smile curved part of his mouth.

"All night," he answered softly, amusement lighting his optics. Jazz blinked twice and checked his chronometer and then made sure it was synchronized with the ship. "You hardly moved at all, I was beginning to worry." He set the cloth aside and sat on the edge of the berth before picking up a cube of energon. "Ratchet has spiked it with a concoction of minerals and pain killers. Prepare yourself," he said handing it to Jazz.

"I really recharged through the night?" he asked sipping the bitter, slightly chalky, brew. Wrinkling his nose he continued forcing the stuff down. Prowl wouldn't let him skip it.

Prowl nodded and glanced at his shrine. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. Jazz bit the bullet and tossed the rest of the brew back with a hard shudder but once it was over he did feel a bit better. Rolling over so he could rest his head on Prowl's thigh he let his body relax again. "I didn't think you'd want to be in your quarters last night, but you were hardly conscious when Ratchet was looking at you I didn't want to fully rouse you and bring you down here." He sighed and a warm hand slid down Jazz's arm in soothing strokes. "Are you all right?"

Jazz nodded and looked up at Prowl's face. "Jus'…pain…so soon after getting back. Fragged with my head." He looked away and pressed his cheek firmer against Prowl's warm leg. "Sorry," he said softly. "I didn't even think to ask before I walked in." He winced at that. The soothing hand on his arm didn't pause.

"You don't have to ask, Jazz," Prowl said after a few seconds. "I'm here for you, for anyone who needs me. I'm right here."

A/N: Merciful gods, I can't believe it's almost Halloween. I hope everyone is enjoying this lovely month of colors and change. Thank you for the reviews/favorites/follows. I'm really glad to see so many people liking this. I didn't think at first anyone would be interested in a story where Jazz wasn't "The Jazz-man", so thank you again for the support.


	4. Chapter 4

The magnets in his hands hummed quietly in the silent room. Prowl's drowsy optics fought to focus on the cost estimates for the damage to C and D decks. Lying on his chest, his wings draping over the sides of the berth like loose blankets, he made a soft sound when Jazz's hands stroked over a lower joint. Curled under one of his wings and half in recharge himself Jazz let his hands linger on the joint until Prowl's wing relaxed even more.

Jazz drifted off for a few breems until Prowl's form stiffened slightly. His wings stretched and folded against his back with their usual precision. "I need to speak with Red Alert," Prowl said softly, stretching his back like a cybercat. He made a soft sound of pain when the plates clicked. Jazz checked his chronometer.

"Meet you in the dispensary?" Jazz murmured not entirely sure he wanted to leave Prowl's comfortable berth. But he probably needed to make an appearance before everyone started to worry. In the two orns since the explosion he'd only crept out a handful of times. Most of that was Ratchet's threat to weld him to a berth or lock him in the isolation unit in med bay if he didn't relax and let his wounds heal.

Prowl's wing fanned out over him again. "If you can find the strength to get up," he teased gently. A smile quirked the corner of Jazz's mouth but before he could deliver a snappy comeback he yawned. Prowl folded his wing back and got off the berth. The absence of his warm body brought the cold back and Jazz made sure he whined loud enough for Prowl to hear. The Praxian flared and folded his wings sending a rush of cool air over Jazz's frame. "I'll see you in the dispensary." Jazz huffed and made a point of pulling the covers over his frame.

He waited a breem after the door closed before stretching and rolling/falling off the berth. Stretching his legs he forced his body off the floor and tried to wake up a bit more before he had to tackle the halls.

Taking the long way and his time to the dispensary he said hello to every bot he saw, easy grin plastered on his faceplates. Blaster, probably cutting out of his shift early, sidled up next to him with a rough shoulder bump. "My mech, Hatchet put the fear of Primus in ya'?" Jazz's welds twinged in protest but he still flashed him a wide grin.

"He actually brought the welder last time," Jazz snickered. Another femme passing by snorted and another mech off shift joined them as they moseyed through the halls. Jazz fell into easy conversation, though if he'd had to give a summary he wasn't sure he could.

"Hey Jazz," Blaster said, "Ratchet clear you for a party?"

Jazz tilted his head while he pretended to think about it. A party was not on his agenda any time in the next septorn. "Nah ma' mech. He said I could leave the berth, didn't say I could dance on a table." Blaster's loud laugh vibrated against his sensor net but not in a painful way.

A private message from Prowl came through. _Detouring to officer's lounge_.

"My mechs, I'll find ya' later," Jazz said with a smile and wave dipping down another hall to swing up a deck to rendezvous with Prowl.

"Wheeljack coded twice," Ratchet said as Jazz stepped in the doorway.

Prowl sat across from Ratchet, the chair not meant for wings, meant he fanned them out behind him in graceful curves. "Ratchet, you still haven't submitted your remodel plans for the med bay. I need them before morning." Ratchet stared down at his high grade. Jazz could only guess how deep in it he was. Ratchet in the right mood, or wrong, could drink high grade like it was sparkling formula.

Ratchet's optics flickered bright blue before darkening to an angry navy. "Really, Prowl? _That's_ what you're concerned with, the fragging remodel. Did you not just fragging hear me?"

"I did," Prowl replied without changing his tone. "And I am submitting the order for supplies tonight so that they will be at the dock waiting for us. But unless I have your plans I can't do that which means I will have to wait to submit the order and then we will be waiting on supplies to reach us. The sooner I have those plans, the sooner they can all return to your care and protection."

"Get out of my face you glitched drone," Ratchet snapped. Prowl sighed and rubbed his forehead as he stood. Jazz glared at Ratchet who went back to staring at his drink. Prowl's wing brushed his shoulder, a gentle push from the room. Jazz followed but anger set his face in a hard mask.

"Let it go, Jazz," Prowl said when they were away from the officer's lounge.

"No."

"Jazz."

"No, Prowl. This slag is past old, why the _frag_ do you put up with this? The over-charged fragger, Blaster, Primus, even fragging _Ironhide_ does it and you never say anything! These stupid—" Prowl put a hand over his mouth and pushed him into an empty room. He crossed his arms and paced the length of the quarters, fury making his core temperature rise a few degrees.

"Jazz," Prowl said softly.

"_No._ I'm not dropping it, I've been letting it go and dropping it for vorns and I'm not doing it anymore."

"What exactly to do you hope to accomplish by berating Ratchet while he's over-charged and miserable?" Prowl asked. That brought Jazz up short and he made an angry sound when he realized there was nothing to do there. Prowl closed the distance between them and let his wings relax on his back. "And what will happen if you get into an argument with Blaster?" Jazz growled but didn't answer. "I am not fond of my various nicknames," Prowl said softly. "But it isn't worth the trouble to lash out at everyone who uses them." Jazz vented the hot air in his system and rested his head on Prowl's shoulder.

"Fine," Jazz growled. "But Primus help me, if I hear one more tonight I'm hitting them. I don't care what you say or how much sense it makes. I don't care if it's Optimus. I'm hitting them, hard."

"If you hit Optimus you'll have to spend at least the night in the brig," Prowl said, gentle fingers stroked down his back strut easing out the tension.

"You think the brig can hold me?"

"It holds the twins." Jazz finally smiled and breathed in Prowl's warm scent, the spice of burning leaves under the subtle smell of warm metal and wires. The smooth strokes on his back became an embrace and he held the Praxian tightly, feeling the soft hum of his spark under his chest plates.

"Now," Prowl murmured after a few breems. "Can you keep up this charade of civility until we get back to my quarters?" Jazz smiled again and reluctantly let Prowl go. He could listen to his spark for the rest of the night and he was starting to get hungry.

Back in Prowl's quarters Jazz found a comfortable position with his head in Prowl's lap. Soft music pumped from his speakers while Prowl read, his fingers absently stroking Jazz's shoulder strut. Shifting around a little he managed to pull out his small figurine and held it against his chest as he started to doze off. Even with Prowl with him the gentle slide into recharge was often interrupted by nightmares.

This time it wasn't a nightmare that dragged him from the brink of recharge but an odd question. "Prowl?" he murmured hoping he could boot up his processor enough to ask the question instead of just mumbling syllables.

"Yes?" his soft voice lulled him a little deeper

"He's s'posed to be guardian, right?" Prowl's soft affirmation got him to his actual question. "Does it still work when you're here?" he murmured.

Prowl's hand stroked down his chest over his spark. "Yes," he whispered as Jazz slid into recharge. "I will protect you, Jazz and he will protect you while you Dream." He felt Prowl's wing cover him just before he fell fully into recharge.

Prowl woke him by stroking his throat. Not an unpleasant way to wake up but it was such an unfamiliar feeling he woke quickly. "Bluestreak had a nightmare, he's on his way down," Prowl murmured. "And I can't feel my lower leg anymore." Jazz snorted and pushed himself up. Prowl sighed and stretched his legs when Jazz was up.

"Y'know you can just push me on the floor," Jazz said standing. "See you in the morning?" A ghost of confusion crossed Prowl's face. Jazz tilted his head toward the door. "Bluestreak," he reminded him.

"You don't have to go," Prowl said softly. "I'll be up with him for the night, you can go back to your recharge." He looked over his shoulder at the berth further back in the room.

"An' where are you two going to recharge?"

Prowl gave him a rare full smile. "I don't. With Bumblebee still out in the field and First Aid off ship for treatment I'll be lucky if he recharges more than a joor." Jazz blinked and rubbed his optics. He had no idea Bluestreak's nightmares were still so bad. Prowl stood and stretched his back and wings. "They're not usually like this, well, not unless he's been in the field. But the accident frightened him considerably and without First Aid and Bumblebee it's been rough on him."

"So what do you do?" Jazz asked. He wished he had something to help the little mech, but he couldn't get through nightmares on his own, he didn't need to be handing out advice. Before Prowl answered there was a soft knock on the door. Being the closer one, Jazz opened it.

Bluestreak flinched back a step when he saw him and gave him a strained smile. "Hi Jazz, sorry, sorry." His thought trailed off and Jazz gently took his arm and pulled him in. When the young Praxian saw Prowl he seemed to remember himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were busy, I'll go back to my room and I'll be okay. I'll go see Ratchet if I still can't sleep 'cause he's always up really late—"

"Bluestreak," Prowl said softly. "I am not busy, you're fine." Bluestreak looked at Jazz uncertainly and Jazz flashed him an easy smile.

"Slumber party, we were just about to play Truth or Dare." Bluestreak giggled and his wings fluttered as his anxiety lessoned. Prowl tossed his head at the couch and Bluestreak plopped down chattering with a sort of manic energy that made Jazz's spark hurt. Anything and everything in the room was fair game for conversation and his words blurred together as his optics bounced around.

"Bluestreak," Prowl said softly, "You're safe, there's no darkness here." Bluestreak clicked; a remnant from his youngling vorns when he'd had a speech glitch as he'd so enthusiastically told Jazz not long after their first meeting. "Have you eaten?" Prowl asked stroking his helm as he sat down next to him. Bluestreak nodded but didn't launch into the story. Jazz sat on Prowl's other side, leaning against him and listening to Bluestreak start in on a thrilling story about his trip to get his morning ration.

Bluestreak snuggled against Prowl's wing while the older Praxian listened to the mundane story with patience Jazz didn't think he would ever have. As the story started to wind down he turned on an old Praxus documentary that, from Bluestreak's chatter, Jazz gathered they had started the last time Bumblebee was in the field. Bluestreak's optics lit with interest as soon as the narrator started in on the massive mountains and deep gorges that made up Praxus. "Lookit, Prowl, do you see?" he chirped excitedly as a breathtaking aerial view filled the screen with valleys full of blooming trees and wildflowers. Mountains lush with greenery, cascading waterfalls, and rivers white with foam filled the screen as the narrator began talking about the native wildlife. "It's so pretty, does all of Praxus look like that? I wish I could remember it. Is that what it looks like where you're from, Prowl? Has Hound been there? Do you think he has some stills? He always takes the best pictures of flowers and birds and _oh look!_ The whole town is built on the side of the mountain, that's so great! Are those towns still there, Prowl? Can we go to Praxus some orn?" He sat up a little and his wings fluttered with excitement.

Prowl curled his wing more around Bluestreak and the small sniper made himself comfortable again as more of the Praxus landscape was revealed. "Yes," Prowl said softly. "We will go to Praxus, I promise." He stroked the side of Bluestreak's helm and the young Praxian's optics dimmed a little with recharge. "And no, not all of Praxus is green like that. Northern Praxus is mostly desert, it looks more like Ankmor. I am from the far north east of Praxus in the high An'shar mountains. Some of the mountains are so eroded they look like sheets of rock that will blow over in the next windstorm, others are spires and they are always covered in snow." Bluestreak's optics dimmed even more as Prowl's low voice continued. "The bottom of the mountain is where they farm. They have the most magnificent steppe farms, every bit of the lower mountain has been turned into root paddies. And when the suns hit it just right it looks like the bottom of the mountain is made of glass and mirrors. It reflects the sky and when the suns set on clear nights they look like fire."

"So pretty," Bluestreak mumbled as his systems began cycling down for recharge. A faint smile lifted the corner of Prowl's mouth.

"All that still there?" Jazz asked watching Bluestreak fidget and mumble in his recharge until he was comfortable.

Prowl lightly stroked Bluestreak's wing to settle him. "Yes," he said after the young Praxian sighed and stilled. "The core of Praxus is gone, utterly destroyed, but the fringe is still there. My home stands."

Jazz woke when Prowl moved. The old habit of not fully dropping into recharge while he was upright brought him up and ready with a knife with the gentle movement. "It's all right," Prowl said softly. Jazz still retracted his visor and looked over the room for any breaches. His natural nocturnal sight still couldn't be matched by technology, the additional scanners he had for heat and movement were standard for XOps with a few upgrades he'd learned the hard way were well worth the credits.

"It was dark againandIcouldn't move anditwasreally dark," Bluestreak's accelerated spark pulse triggered one of Jazz's sensors and he finally tucked the knife away. The small Praxian curled against Prowl whimpering. Prowl's weight shifted and he leaned more against Jazz so his wings could fully wrap around the trembling juvenile.

"It's not dark anymore, spark," Prowl murmured. "You're safe." Jazz sat up more and rested his chin on Prowl's shoulder. Bluestreak trembled, his wings wrapped tight around him like additional armor. Pulling Prowl closer to his chest he reached under his arms and stroked along the joints of Bluestreak's back with the lowest setting of his magnets. Prowl pressed his forehead against the side of Bluestreak's head. "No more dark," he whispered. Bluestreak relaxed against him again, head slipping lower on his shoulder as he fell back into recharge. Prowl pressed a soft kiss against his head and sighed.

"Why don't you put 'em with the Twins?" Jazz whispered. Bluestreak didn't stir. Prowl canted his head a fraction, a silent question. "They're off ship a lot, but hardly ever overnight."

Prowl shook his head a little. "The Twins like having their own room, after the years in Kaon it's still a novelty for them to have a safe space to retreat to." His wings settled more comfortably around Bluestreak. "And Bluestreak, Bumblebee, and First Aid are the youngest onboard, they're quite close. Pulling him out of their room for any reason would be painful for all of them." Letting his head tip back against Jazz he sighed with spark deep exhaustion. "His nightmares are hardly this bad anymore, it's only after he's been in the field that he finds it difficult to cope."

Jazz had over the vorns thought it odd the best sniper in the army was almost never in the field, but after seeing one of Bluestreak's worst episodes understood completely why his use was sporadic. "You can always list him as a civilian. He doesn't have to be here," he murmured. Given the terrors the juvenile was subject too he probably shouldn't have made it past the front door of the recruitment office.

Prowl squeezed his optics shut and shook his head again. "Decacycles ago that was a possibility, but he's known to the Decepticons now. If they found him unprotected, even on a neutral colony, they would kill him." Jazz thought about that for a quiet breem as Bluestreak recharged peacefully. Unless they wanted to assign a guard to the small Praxian either for the rest of his life or until the war was over, whichever came first, he wouldn't be safe anywhere but in the spark of the Autobot army. But, there could be another option.

"Ya'know," Jazz said softly. "He's still a ward of the state until he's an adult. That's, what, four decacycles away?"

Prowl's arms tightened around the smaller Praxian briefly. "I know. Optimus already made the suggestion." Jazz lifted his optic ridges in surprise. He wouldn't have guessed the Prime, with the thousands of other things he was trying to do, would have noticed how close Prowl and Bluestreak were. "But I can't," Prowl said.

"Oh?" Jazz murmured breathing in his familiar scent. Bluestreak clicked in his recharge and Prowl pulled him a little higher on his chest so he could rest his head against his.

"Jazz," Prowl said with a soft laugh devoid of humor, "I am second-in-command of this army. I cannot have young. They would be targeted immediately. He nuzzled Bluestreak once and sighed. "I will never knowingly put him in such danger."

"I know that," Jazz said, more than willing to argue this point. "But if you adopt him you can take him off active duty and he can still stay onboard."

Prowl was already shaking his head. "He's too old for the rule to apply, he'll be an adult soon and all ships in the armada are limited personal. If he's not an active duty soldier he would have to be taken to a neutral colony." Jazz muttered a curse and a humorless smile curved Prowl's mouth. "I could assign him to Hound and Trailbreaker," he said softly. "And let him roam distant worlds a few times a vorn, but I know he wouldn't allow it. He wants to do something for this army, Jazz. He wants to help." Jazz winced at the smelting pit and hard place Bluestreak had wedged the older Praxian into. "Sniper is the only position he can be in that requires limited use."

They were quiet for almost half a joor, Jazz staring at the far wall trying to think of somewhere he could put the little sniper in his team. Given most of their missions had, at best, a forty percent chance for success he didn't think Prowl would sign off on any transfer. Bluestreak clicked again and snuggled more against Prowl with his wings drooping on his back. "I have to send him out again soon," Prowl whispered, with roughness in his smooth voice.

"When was he last out?" Jazz murmured.

"Three kels." Without Ratchet signing off on an injury leave, the longest an active duty soldier could go without an assignment was four kels from the date of their last return. After that, they went dormant and were considered non-active. Bluestreak would have to leave the ship if he didn't go out into the field. Jazz sent a heartfelt curse out to Megatron and every glitch that persisted with the war.

"I'll see if I got some reconnaissance that could use the assist," he whispered; something quiet and simple that could get Bluestreak off ship and back without too much danger, relatively speaking. He leaned back more and pulled Prowl against him, holding him similar to the way he held Bluestreak. Prowl stared at the ceiling, faint lines of pain on his face. Bluestreak recharged with quiet clicks. His adult frame structure was beginning to show along his jaw line and across his shoulders but so much of him still carried the rounded features of a sparkling. Jazz watched Bluestreak recharge with a twist of pain in his own spark. "We'll keep him safe, Prowler," he whispered pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. Prowl turned his head to Jazz and his sapphire optics slowly closed when Jazz pressed their foreheads together.

Bluestreak's chirp woke both of them. In the second it took Prowl to lift his head Jazz caught the flash of deadly promise in his optics. For the first time in vorns he had a disconcerting moment where he didn't think he was the most dangerous thing in the room. "Bluestreak, what is it?" Prowl asked in a gentle voice.

Bluestreak beamed at him. "I recharged." And then he yawned. "And I was going to get up but you squeezed and it surprised me, so I squeaked."

Prowl nuzzled the young Praxian and unfolded his wings with a small smile. "I'm sorry, spark, I didn't feel you wake." Bluestreak didn't get up, but wiggled around until he was comfortable again and snuggled against Prowl with a soft sigh. Jazz started to drift off again when an alarm chimed in his HUD.

"Ah, c'mon," he groaned. "Stupid….are these o'dark-thirty meetings your idea?" he asked Prowl, not entirely sure how he'd handle the truth.

Prowl didn't answer him. "Bluestreak," he murmured. The young Praxian looked up at Prowl with wide blue optics like a cyberkitten. Another smile touched Prowl's face. "It hasn't worked yet and it won't work this orn. Come love, Sideswipe has first shift in communications and Bumblebee has a check-in scheduled in a joor." That perked Bluestreak up.

"Ya' know, Blue, if you don't move and I don't move, he can't move," Jazz said in a last effort to reclaim recharge.

"Wrong," Prowl corrected. He scooped Bluestreak up and stood in a move Jazz had to replay twice before he figured out how he did it. Bluestreak giggled and kicked his feet until Prowl set him down, then his wings fluttered as he warmed up to his usual chatter.

Prowl and Jazz parted with Bluestreak on A deck as he scurried down the hall to see Sideswipe and wait for Bumblebee's transmission. Prowl watched him go with the same troubled look on his face as he'd had the night before. "Where's Bee?" Jazz asked keeping his voice low. Technically they shouldn't be discussing Bumblebee's mission or location outside of Prowl's office. But if Bumblebee wasn't anywhere deep in Decepticon territory Prowl could send Bluestreak out on an assist if it was needed or not, it still counted as field work. Prowl took a deep breath and gave Jazz a rare full smile.

"I have something for him," Prowl said softly. "I just don't like doing this to him." The pained look crossed his face again but he lifted his wings and closed off the troubling thoughts. "Blaster is ahead," he said, dropping back a step and pegging Red Alert with a narrowed optic look when he stepped out of the security room. The horned Gygaxian froze for a full five seconds before cringing and approaching Prowl. Jazz snickered and kept walking, slowing a little so he could hear why Prowl had pounced on the security director.

"I didn't mean to," Red said with a defiant huff.

"Red Alert, I walked you halfway back to your quarters, how could you have accidentally found your way up two decks and on the opposite side of the ship." Were Prowl a mech who rolled his optics, that sentence would have had at least two. Red Alert huffed again but didn't answer. "Kokoro, we've gone over this exactly thirty-two times. You need a minimum of six joors of recharge and two rations a day. When is the last time you ate?"

"You have no authority on telling anyone else when they need to recharge and eat," Red Alert shot back. Listening to the two of them go back and forth was like listening to an old bonded pair. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Ten point four joors ago," Prowl responded. "When is the last time you ate?" he asked again not leaving room for argument. Red Alert made an irritated sound.

"You hardly remember to recharge yourself, how do you know how much recharge I need?" Red continued to argue.

"That's why I have Jazz," Prowl said. Jazz laughed, he wasn't subtle about is eavesdropping and everyone knew it. "He reminds me to eat and I remind you to eat, thus keeping the officers of this army functioning." Red Alert snorted but didn't argue further.

Jazz walked into the conference room with Blaster filling him in on the details of the party. He still didn't mind missing the party, but enjoyed hearing about Cliffjumper's inebriated attempt to fight Mirage. Prowl and Red Alert walked in behind them, no longer arguing about recharge and eating but with their heads close together only speaking intermittently meaning most of the conversation was happening over a secure channel. He flipped through his frequencies hoping to hit on it but doubted it would be open to him. He gave up after one scan and slid into his seat between Prowl and Blaster.

Ratchet was the last in with a dark glower on his face. Jazz's latent irritation at the medic woke and he glared at him. A subtle shift from Prowl and a wing brushed against his shoulder, given how close the chairs were and that they were not meant for wings it could have been an accident. Jazz stopped glaring at the medic with an irritated sigh followed by a yawn. Blaster crossed his arms and mirrored Jazz's yawn.

The meeting began with their updated schedule for arriving at the neutral dock. The actual length of time the repairs would take was more tentative given their resident engineer was still touch and go from his injuries. He expected Prowl to remind Ratchet to send his plans but it never came up. Curiosity got the better of him and the Decepticon troop movements Prowl was outlining was the information he had supplied so he busied himself looking at the outgoing transmission logs from last night. He found Prowl's tag in the early joors of the morning, well, earlier, and scanned the transcript. Ratchet must have sobered up enough to send the plans or Prowl was making a guess at what he would need. He didn't see Prowl doing that though. So either Ratchet had sent the plans or his med bay was going to be rebuilt exactly as it had been because Prowl wasn't going to hold up the whole project waiting for him. If that was the case, their repair stay could be quite lively.

"Jazz," Prowl said bringing him back to the meeting. He thought he'd been caught zoning out, but if Prowl knew he wasn't calling him on it. "Your report is now two orns late. Next time Ratchet threatens to weld you to something I will make sure it is your desk." Jazz flashed him his most winning smile and Ratchet glowered at them both.

After the meeting where Jazz learned absolutely nothing he didn't already know, Blaster walked out with him. "You eat yet? I gotta grab something and head to communications. Don't wanna be late," he said rolling his eyes to the side indicating Red Alert and Prowl back to arguing about recharging and eating.

"No, Red Alert," Prowl said with borderline exasperation. "You are going to eat something and then you are going to recharge on your day off."

"No, Prowl," Red Alert countered in the same tone. "I am going back to the security office to finish what I was doing and I will eat and recharge later."

"You said that last night and you didn't do it. Now, you're being punished."

"Punished! For what?" Red Alert demanded coming to a stop with his arms crossed. Prowl hooked his arm and kept him moving.

"Disobeying a direct order."

Red Alert growled and snarled at Prowl. "A direct order? Whose order? What order? I haven't disobeyed anything!"

"I told you last night to eat and recharge and you didn't do it. That was a direct order from a superior and you didn't do it."

"_You can't do that!_" Red Alert snapped. Jazz covered his mouth with his hand while he laughed.

Blaster gave him a sidelong look. "What're you laughing at?" he said looking around. Jazz still couldn't believe the two officers could walk through the halls and argue about such ridiculous things and no one paid any attention. He was curious to know what everyone thought they were talking about when Red started yelling.

"You hear them?" he asked nodding in the officers' direction. He laughed again. "I swear if anyone heard a recording of them they'd think they were bonded." Red Alert continued yelling at Prowl about abuse of power as the rest of the crew passed by them without an optic flicker.

Blaster watched them for a few seconds and then rolled his optics. "Jazzman, you been spendin' too much time with them if that's what's makin' you laugh." Now it was Jazz's turn to roll his optics. But, no matter how entertaining he found the conversation, he couldn't stay glued to Prowl indefinitely. He followed Blaster into the dispensary and sat at their usual table in the middle of the room. Mechs and femmes settled in with them as Blaster turned on some hard thumping music. Blaster started in on the party again and Jazz relaxed into the noise adding his laughter to the conversation as the whole night was laid out a breem at a time.

A/N: I am always saddened there aren't more stories with Prowl and Red Alert either as bond mates or buddies. It seems like such an obvious pair up with Prowl being a tactician and Red Alert in charge of security. Anyway, thank you for reading/reviewing/favorites and Happy Holidays :)


	5. Chapter 5

Transcript #418

Prowl

Session 23

Hello Prowl, I haven't seen you in quite some time. How are you recovering?

Good evening, Smokescreen. I would rather skip the pleasantries this evening and get to the point. I have a set of twins sitting in the brig and repairs to coordinate.

—quiet laughter—Very well. There has been some…concern over your relationship with Jazz.

Yes, I am well aware. We are not interfacing, we have done nothing of note or concern.

You are quite close to him though. You're rarely seen with anyone else and you've never really made an effort to build relationships with anyone else.

I am quite busy. My shift does not end at the scheduled time, those are simply the hours I am in my office. I am available to the crew and soldiers any time day or night.

Do they know that?

Yes.

You're certain.

Doctor, when the Twins get into a fight with each other or half the rec room I am the first to be notified. When Wheeljack singlehandedly destroys two decks and nearly kills himself and several others I am the first to be notified. Yes, they know.

Does Jazz call you when he has a nightmare?

No.

He doesn't?

No.

—1.2 breems silcence—

Prowl, your fondness of details and word games must make you an excellent interrogator. Does Jazz _contact_ you when he has a nightmare?

Yes.

How so?

He comes to my quarters.

Why?

I will not assume his motivations.

—.3 breems silence—

Does anyone else come to you when they have nightmares? It's not an uncommon affliction.

No.

—.3 breems silence—

—sigh—Does anyone else _contact_ you in any way when they have a nightmare.

No.

Do you think it's odd that Jazz contacts you when he has a nightmare? He is quite gregarious. There must be someone up on the night shift he could relax with or he could be paired with a roommate.

—1.1 breems silence—

Prowl, if you're concerned about Jazz I need to know.

I am concerned about every soldier under my command.

Prowl, this is not a word game. If you think Jazz needs more extensive help I need to know so I can get him to those resources.

Jazz's nightmares are more complex than simply a bad dream or unpleasant memory. No. I don't think any of his friends could help him and, if anything, a roommate could exacerbate the problem.

Do you know what his nightmares are about?

It varies.

Can you give me an example?

No. That subject matter is highly classified.

—End Session—

Notes on Session:

Prowl, as usual is completely unreadable. His poise is almost enviable as is his ability to dodge answers. Most of the time I don't even realize he's done it until I'm transcribing the session. He is a brilliant tactician on the field and off. My concern is that he knows more about Jazz and his stability than he is willing to share. Given this and my previous session with Jazz, I would recommend Jazz be taken off duty until we can have a thorough assessment of his disposition.


	6. Chapter 6

_My insides all turned to ash, so slow_

_And blew away as I collapsed, so cold_

_A black wind took them away, from sight_

_And held darkness over day, that night_

_Valentine's Day~ Linkin Park_

Jazz kept the tremor in his hands at bay by folding his arms across his chest. "You can't fraggin' do this," he snapped. Smokescreen's small office with its dim lighting felt too close, constricting. The chair they'd asked him to sit in when he walked in for his bi-septornly appointment was pushed aside.

Ratchet rubbed between his optics while Smokescreen watched him with concern shadowing his dark blue optics. "Jazz, it's—"

"Don't give me that "for your own good" slag," he hissed. "You can't take me off duty now." Squeezing his armor to the point of pain he grasped desperately for anything to stay on duty. He was scheduled to leave in two orns. There was no time to find a replacement, to redo the plan to fit someone else. Every breem, every joor of the plan was tailored to fit him like a second coat of paint. No one else could do it. They would be sending their second best to do the work of their best. "Prowl isn't going to clear this," he tried to keep his tone defiant, keep the panic out. Tremors racked him and he dug his claws deeper to keep them hidden. They couldn't take him, couldn't have him.

"Prowl has no say in your health," Ratchet snapped. His optics flashed, a sure sign of his temper coming to the fore. Jazz didn't care. He could throw all the scanners and wrenches he wanted, but they couldn't take him off active duty. Not yet, they couldn't have him. "And with reasonable suspicion he's withholding information about your mental health he certainly doesn't have one iota of authority in this matter." Jazz held back a scream. Ratchet closed his optics and took a calming breath. "Jazz," he said in a gentler tone.

With a snarl he left Smokescreen's office. One of them shouted his name. He couldn't stand there with them. Couldn't stare at those faceplates so slagging _concerned_ about him while a whole fragging plan was about to go to Pit. He passed mechs in the hall but he couldn't name them, didn't see their faces.

He found himself standing outside of Prowl's office a few breems later, his fury fully giving way to terror. Prowl opened the door without him even knocking. "Sit," he pointed to chair in the corner. Prowl's presence calmed some of the churning in his tanks. This would be okay. Prowl would fix this and everything would be fine. He exhaled a shaky breath and became aware of Smokescreen's voice.

"Prowl," Smokescreen started. Prowl didn't bother with his usual politeness. Grabbing Smokescreen by his shoulder strut he literally dragged the other Praxian into the office, shut and locked the door, and activated every signal dampener he had.

"You cannot take him off active duty," Prowl said without preamble. He didn't give Smokescreen a second to reply. "He is scheduled to leave in two orns and there is no one to replace him. You can schedule his leave when he comes back, I will debrief replacements in the interim." Smokescreen blinked twice and opened his mouth like he wasn't getting enough air. The incredible breach in protocol was so un-Prowl Jazz too was momentarily disoriented.

"No, Prowl," Smokescreen said at last and Jazz stiffened every cord in his body. "He is compromised and unlike you, I am not willing to destroy him for the good of the mission." His wings rose over his shoulders in the same arch Prowl used when disciplining the crew. Prowl's wings flared, the edges almost brushing the walls. He couldn't fly, but he could glide a fair distance. Smokescreen stiffened, whatever threat or challenge Prowl had issued causing the normally calm doctor to narrow his optics. His wings snapped back tight behind his back like they weren't there.

"You're gonna do all this because you think I can't handle another mission, but you're okay with sending someone else to die?" Jazz snarled. "Get your own head checked, Smoke."

Smokescreen rose stiffly, his wings still pinned back, whatever nonverbal standoff the two Praxians were having he was trying very hard not to inflame it further. "Jazz is out until he has a thorough assessment. Find someone else." As he turned and left the room his wings snapped out and shut before he reached the door.

Prowl's icy silence made Jazz's armor prickle. He knew in his spark that Prowl would never hurt him, but he wasn't certain Smokescreen had similar protection. The trembling came back, started in his hands again and moved up his arms to his shoulders and spread further until his entire body was shaking. Soft wings surrounded him, a warm body brushing his. He tried to breathe, tried to match Prowl's intakes but panic had him. Someone was going to die. One of his team, one of his brothers, was going to die and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

"Jazz," Prowl's voice was rough like rusted metal. "I need…I need." His wings slid from Jazz's shoulders as he sank to his knees in front of Jazz with his head down. He needed a replacement. A sacrifice. A life to waste. Someone's spark to throw away. And who knew Jazz's team better than Jazz. He had to choose who would die. Like Primus and the Unmaker plucking sparks from the world and the Matrix they had to decide whose life they didn't need.

Jazz stared sightlessly at the far wall as fluid filled his optics. He had been too weak. And they had noticed. And now, someone else was going to pay for it. "Can you stop it?" he whispered. He knew the answer, but maybe, just this once, Prowl would lie to him. Maybe, for just one night, he could recharge knowing he had been strong enough.

"No," Prowl's voice could hardly be heard in the quiet room. "We will lose more if someone doesn't go." One for the many. One life for a dozen others.

"Mercury," the name stuck in his mouth like molten rock; burning, scarring. His mouth would never work the same again. Prowl's hands gripped the back of his legs and for the first time, Jazz saw cracks in the bedrock. "He has the best chance." Because he was second-best. But second-best was not the best and the plan had been made for the best. It wasn't Mercury's plan. Until he was notified, he wouldn't even know it had been happening. Would he know? As he boarded the transport in two orns, would he know it was Jazz that had spoken his name, like the Unmaker calling a spark. Would he know how weak Jazz was?

Prowl lifted his head and released Jazz's legs. With trembling wings he stood. "I need to know everything about him," he whispered. His sapphire optics blazed with determination. Jazz stood with him. Maybe, between the two of them, they could help second-best do the job of the best.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: No lie, I teared up while writing this chapter.

Thank you again for reading/reviewing/favoriting.


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